Sabita
by SickMonkey89
Summary: Just pure smut. Sabal and Amita get into another argument and well...didn't I just say it was pure smut? Sabita I call it. Please read and review and just enjoy.


**Hey look not an update for Strange Waters but I am in the midst of it don't worry readers for that fic. It's coming along nicely. Want a spoiler? Vaas gets bashed in the face with a beach ball. There ya go. Spoiler fun. Not onto this thing. I made a post about Sabal and Amita arguing to the point they wind up hate fucking the crap out of each other and well…that's what happens here. A drunken hate fuck. No real plot just, well, smut. It's a tad half assed as I didn't put too much into it but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. So without further adieu I give you… **

**Sabita**

They were night and day, Sabal and Amita. Earth and sky. Fire and ice. Cat and dog. Black and white, any antonym you could find, any polar opposite and that's what they were. Two heads on one fumbling clumsy elephant, each one pulling the body this way and that, determined to lead the herd to the watering hole, whichever way that might be. They tugged and pulled and bashed their heads together it was a wonder to the pair how they had found themselves in such a, well, predicament as being half naked on the floor not sure whether to bite and claw or to kiss and caress. It became some strange combination of all four actions and then some, and the real culprit to blame was alcohol.

A butting of heads, an every day occurrence to the locals they saw maybe too much of, had landed them both in a more sour mood than any of their past arguments. Sabal was a simplistic dick, Amita was a self righteous bitch, and even Sabal had had to pause at his words, leaving Amita with an opening to crack her hand straight across the side of his face. She yelled and barraged him with all insults under the sun, pushing him to hit her back and in the end they left each other in two large agitated huffs. On opposite ends of the village they drank away their anger until it was little more than a luke warm annoyance settling in their stomachs.

Insufferable.

Arrogant.

Stubborn.

Annoying.

Sensitive.

Egotistic.

A few more insults to toss at their nonexistent rival until Sabal, in a drunken epiphany, decided to march, or rather, stumble himself down the road to Amita's quarters, determined to give her the what for regarding their situation, that loss of their traditions and culture would only hurt their people. Amita herself was preparing to head out the door to remind Sabal that with Pagan annihilated, their country would only go downhill unless they were able to acquire some form of decent income, the king's drug supplies being their best bet to uplift them from the hole his Majesty had tossed them into. Upon opening the door however, the two were struck dumb, staring at each other with the intensity of a stalking tiger the each of them, and Amita, not surprisingly, was the first to pounce.

Tempers flared as the rest of the village sought refuge from the disputing heads, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire if one turned to demand an honest opinion of themselves.

"You are always going on about Mohan this, Kyra that," Amita raged, pushing at Sabal's shoulders with drunken arms, Sabal's attempts at suppressing his own hits wearing thin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a hard on for the two of them. Especially Mohan—"

"I've had it up to here with the disrespect, the insults—"

"What like calling you old man? I thought it suited you."

"You are so…fucking pathetic Amita—"

"Oh I'm pathetic? I'm sorry but at least I am _trying_ to help our country. Praying and lighting candles isn't going to get us any closer to our goal. Action is what's going—"

"To get us all killed!" Sabal was through the door by now, slamming it closed behind him as he pushed Amita up against the nearest wall, both sets of green eyes a roaring fire of fury and Amita's hands were clenching Sabal's wrists tightly, but, unfortunately, he had always been the stronger one. "How many people have we lost because of _your_ decisions?"

"How many more will we lose? I'm more worried about the needs of the many, not the few."

Sabal's grip on the woman's shoulders tightened to a bruising point. "If you want to lead this country with drug money, then you're better off with Pagan than us," he seethed, and Amita was overtaken with a horrific drunken rage as she thrust Sabal away from her, landing a solid punch to his chin.

He won't hit me back, she thought. He's too soft, too sensitive, too _high and mighty_. Hitting women is below him, he's pathe—OW!

He…he had hit her. A literal backhand across her cheek that sent her head flying to the side, leaving the man wide-eyed, surprised at even himself as he glanced down to his shaking hand. He hardly the time to register the brunette tackling him to the floor.

When Sabal had finally gotten the upper hand, reversing their positions, his body straddling hers firmly with his hands holding her's back, his world was spinning. He saw the fire in her eyes, could feel it in her skin, and a warmth spread through his abdomen, and that's when he smashed his mouth against her's, eliciting a surprised murmur from the struggling woman before she opened her mouth to send a quick bite to his bottom lip. It hurt, but yet it left him still wanting and he attempted another kiss. Again she bit at him, drawing blood this time as her teeth broke the skin of his lower lip and he growled against the attack. Still, he tried, grinding his hips against hers as he attempted a shove a hand between them, going straight for the waist of her pants, ignoring the belt and buttons altogether.

Amita gasped and attempted to push Sabal off of her, yelling and berating him with newfound insults even she didn't know she knew and she dug her nails into the back of his head when he grabbed her lips with his teeth, quickly shoving a finger up inside of her. A moan this time escaped her as her free hand left marks in his scalp, clawing then caressing then tugging at his hair. Ugh, his hair was always greasy she remembered, but still pulled roughly until it was an untied mess, strands falling before his eyes. His teeth were at her neck as his hand holding her wrist moved down to grab at a breast through her shirt, squeezing harshly as he added another finger to his already probing one, eliciting more gasps and mewls from the woman.

Through the drunken haze Amita could make out the disheveled hair on Sabal's head, the small bleeding scratch to a shaven side administered by her striking nails, his bleeding lip, and those lustfilled eyes. Could feel his fingers working a rhythm inside of her, slickened by her arousal and she pushed at his shoulders, using his distraction of roaming hands to push him onto his back, her hands at his throat, squeezing and pushing into his jugular the man let loose his own set of gasps, these ones for his life as he pulled at her wrists. Amita found herself panting rapidly, loosening her hold around the man's throat, Sabal hardly fighting her at this point and she took the time to administer her own massages to the throbbing organ below his waistline.

Over and over she whirled her hips over his, feeling his hard cock pulse under his cargos, pressing against her each time and she all but ripped the button straight from his pants as she forced her hand down to squeeze as roughly his cock as he had her breast and the look on his face when she did so…it made her laugh with pride.

The room was a furnace and clothing was both suffocating and a hindrance. Removing her hands from Sabal's throat and pants Amita took to removing her shirts, her own hair becoming an unruly mop atop her head as the braid loosened, Sabal's fingers entwining with the strands as he forced the woman back down, pinning her to him with strong arms and she bit at him again.

Sabal blamed the alcohol. It was all he could think to blame for his actions. The ridiculous amount he had consumed even he was surprised he could still walk…wait…how much had he drank? One look down and only a quarter of the liquor bottle was gone, another look and only a few drops remained and his world was a lot stranger looking, more wobbly and he had almost lost his way when storming towards Amita's. But yes, he blamed alcohol, because what else would make him like this? Make him want to tear that wretched woman's clothes off and fuck her like some…whore? No even he didn't go so far as to compare her to that, but still, her open mindedness did leave some to suspect she was more prone to have multiple partners than the average Kyrati woman. The man she spent the most time around though was Sabal, and that itself she forced herself to endure. Sabal may have once upon a time, some many years ago, thought Amita to be pretty, beautiful even, a rather attractive and strong object of affection if she hadn't grown to be so bull headed and aggressive. That's when she turned into an ugly witch and that was all Sabal saw when he looked at her…until tonight that is.

Tonight she glowed in the dancing light of the candles, her shadow swaying across the wooden walls with every movement. "Such a tough man," she teased, pushing his hands away every time they sought the warmth of her skin.

She forced his jacket off; how she teased him once on how it made him look like the Nutcracker. "Big bad man," she cooed, throwing away his wandering hand yet again with such a force it nearly knocked it against the floor.

Pull off his shirt, rip the collar, push him back against the floor. It was unbearable, the way she ground against him, eliciting husky gasps every time she moved her hips forward. Her pants soon followed her shirt and she worked at the belt of his own, working at a deliberately slow pace as she forced open the zipper, the tear of fabric resonating through the room and Sabal wasn't so sure she would be any more tender with his nether regions.

Amita was not.

With his cock forced between his stomach and slick lips of her pussy, Sabal watched her rock back and forth atop him, her hands running from her hips to her tits where she squeezed them teasingly before him, his eyes entrapped by the very image of the rebellious woman, her smirk all but humiliating him with the power she exuded and Sabal wished so much to touch her. She slapped away his hand again, grinding harder, brushing the sensitive bud of her clitoris over the head of his dick, mewling and moaning above him Sabal could not, for the life of him, maintain his self control.

In an instant, he had her by her hips, pushing her over to the side before accentuating his strength by hoisting herup with himself and slamming her down onto the bed, his lips attacking her with new fervor as he thrust himself inside of her, a loud gasp escaping her throat as her nails dug into his shoulders. "Tough girl," he huffed into her ear as he pulled his hips back, only to slam himself back in, a yelp from Amita and he could not contain the victorious smirk. "Rebel girl," he hissed, one hand at her hip as his other pulled a tit up, his tongue darting up to drag across a nipple before sucking it in between his lips, teeth grazing over the sensitive nub, his nails dragging across her hip.

Another hard thrust into the woman, hitting that one very particular spot, and Amita was a writhing mess beneath, trying to gain some semblance of control as the man pounded in, out, in, out, over and over, picking up his pace with each impalement until Amita was groaning into his hair, moaning against his scalp, her legs numb and shaking, her toes curling when his cock found that exact spot that sent her teetering on the edge.

Sabal had no more words to say, only short grunts, releasing the first nipple to make way for the second, sucking vigorously away until fingers coiling tightly in his hair forced his head back up, and for a moment, just one tiny fleeting moment, green met green, locking together for the shortest of seconds, a whiff of communication, something like…like…neither could place it for in a flash it was gone when their lips locked once more.

Sabal quickened yet again, fucking Amita into abandon when their tongues collided, his hips slapping loudly against her ass when he pulled her knees over his elbows, his original pace lost to the flickering light of the candles. He hit and he hit and he hit and with each one Amita fought harder and harder to stay quiet, or as quiet as she could. Surely were one to pass by the small hut one would no doubt hear the raucous coming from inside, wonder to themselves if the two butting heads were fighting yet again, perhaps with more violence this time around, or maybe…no, no fucking way the two would be fucking each other's brains out.

Over and over Sabal went, feeling her inner walls clench around his dick as Amita's body shook, her skin almost vibrating and as she tightened her hold around his shoulders, the tightness in Sabal's abdomen fucking _snapped_ and as he came he all but collapsed on top of the quivering, panting against her ear, releasing her legs from his hold.

As Amita regained a bit of composure, breaths rapid against Sabal's shoulder, her eyes followed the flickering shadows, the image upon the wall of their bodies entwined, and in a sudden strike of not quite sobriety but more so realization, she shoved Sabal off of her. Sabal nearly fell to the floor with the sudden push, just barely able to register the predicament as he came back down from the sex driven high and he stared sidelong at the now fuming woman. "Get out," she said, lowly, new found hatred in her eyes as she pushed him once more, attempting to cover herself with a pillow as Sabal fumbled from the bed to the floor and to his feet.

She pointed to the door, green eyes a blaze with warning. "Get out, and if you ever speak of this again…" Sabal paused mid pants-leg, quirking a wondering eyebrow. "I will kill you," she whispered.

It was an awkward few minutes as Sabal attempted to redress himself and exit Amita's quarters, neither exchanging one more word, and those awkward minutes were the heaviest thing since the Golden Path to weigh on Sabal's shoulders. What had happened? He asked himself. "Nothing," he mumbled aloud as he shut the door quietly behind him, squinting his eyes in the dark of the village. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Just another hateful argument.


End file.
